


Live In Your Memories

by http_jungkook



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Growing Old, Growing Old Together, One Shot, kihyun fluff, originally this was gonna be like a poem but i aint that skilled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:59:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/http_jungkook/pseuds/http_jungkook
Summary: there were 9 signs you loved me, they will live on in my memories...





	

You’re 5.

Hospital sounds echo around you; machines beeping and whirring and spinning.

“I’m ____. What’s your name?”

“Kihyun.”

A young boy with deep brown eyes from the bed opposite has moved his wheelchair closer to you, and his smile turns those eyes into crescents as he shoots a toothy grin your way.

“How did you do it?”

“Fell from a treehouse. What about you?”

“Slipped down the stairs. When do you get to go home?”

“Next week.”

“Me too.”

You spend four days laughing together, quizzing each other, getting each other into trouble. His is the first signature on your cast. When he gets to go home first, he visits you the next evening. The day you finally get to leave, he brings a balloon that reads ‘Congrats’ and a bunch of flowers.

Daffodils. Your favourite.

This was sign number one.

 

You’re 15.

“I can’t believe you did it!”

His freshly pinked locks blow in the wind, a scarf covering his mouth.

“Well, I like it. So, I guess we’ve got to match now.”

Your own hair is stained green from a bad dye job. He had come over and comforted you as you freaked out, and by the end of the night you were both laughing. But this was no joke – your first day of the new semester, and you looked like Cosmo from Fairly Odd Parents. He had asked how he could make the situation better, and you had replied:

“Be my Wanda.”

The next day, he met you outside your house, and his cheeks matched his hair as you keeled over laughing. But as people stared when you walked through the front gates, his fingers intertwined yours and he held his head high.

No one said anything to you.

This was sign number two.

 

You’re 25.

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course!” You launch yourself off the sofa and tackle him to the ground. Your apartment is small, and there’s mould on the ceiling, and the windows are cracked. You teach 6 year olds, and he teaches music. Your fridge is mostly take out containers, and the layer of dust on the stove reminds you that you are not yet an adult.

But you’re old enough to know this is the right answer.

He laughs, kisses you hard, and says

“Give me your hand, then!”

On slides a silver band, with a glistening rock.

You squeal.

He kisses you again, and his arms feel like they’ll never let you go.

This was sign number three.

 

You’re 35.

Paintbrush in hand, you swipe yellow across the walls. Hands snake around your belly, and you giggle.

“How was school?”

“Tiring. How was your day?”

“I’ve just started painting. Do you like the colour?”

“It’s like sunshine.”

You turn to face him, and he crouches in front of you. Palms are spread across your stomach, and he presses his lips softly.

“I wonder if he’ll be musical too.”

“You’re his dad – it’d be a crime if he wasn’t.”

A swift kick suggests agreement.

“You want help?”

“I’ll do this tomorrow; I’ve been on my feet too long today.”

With 101 things still on your mind, you drift to sleep with a parenting book open and the lights still on. When you get up to pee at 3am, you notice the bed beside you empty. Waddling through the house, you find your husband curled up in a ball on the floor, surrounded by freshly painted yellow walls.

He made the room look like sunshine for you.

This was sign number four.

 

You’re 45.

“Meet your little sister, guys.”

You’re in hospital, your little girl sleeping in your arms. Kihyun stands beside you, one boy holding his hand, the other resting on his hip.

“And you were worried you’d be outnumbered.”

“What shall we call her?”

“How about after your grandmother?”

“Oh, god no, let’s not curse a new-born with an old woman’s name.”

You’re tired, and sweaty, and dehydrated, but none of that matters when you watch him put down your youngest boy and lift the newest addition into his arms. He beams down at her, and you cuddle your sons.

He takes the kids and gives you’re the chance to take a nap. When you awaken, you see him sat in the chair beside you, your little girl sleeping in his arms.

“You’re gonna grow up to be just like your mother; I can tell. That smile tells me you’re gonna be breaking hearts, and whatever guy you pick is gonna feel like the luckiest man alive. Just like her.”

That was sign number five.

 

You’re 55.

Kihyun stands over the stove making dinner, when you enter with your youngest.

“It’s official – she needs braces.”

“Braces?”

“For her teeth.”

“I mean, I had assumed rather than for her trousers.”

You sit down at the table, and rub your temple. Kihyun walks up behind you and begins kneading your shoulders.

“We just can’t afford this right now; first the boys both needed glasses, then the car broke down, now this.”

“If you want, I can intentionally get a couple of my students to fail so they have to come back to me for extra singing lessons?”

You laugh, and roll your head forward so it rests on the table top.

“We’ll find something. I’ll sell a kidney if I need to.”

“Terrible idea, but I like the optimism.”

That night, you rummage through your closet for anything that you could sell to cover the costs. Sitting on the bed, wedding dress in hand, you start to cry.

Things had been tough since you’d had the kids. The school had kept you on for as long as they could, but as your availability had become less and less, eventually they had to replace you with someone more ‘permanent’.

You stack the clothes in a pile by the door, and head to bed before Kihyun comes upstairs. You make a mental note to list them online tomorrow morning, and shut off the bedside lamp.

The next morning, the pile is missing.

You scour the room, and finally find where your clothes were hiding: on hangers, back in your wardrobe.

When you go downstairs, as well as an absent Kihyun, you’re aware of a large gap in your living room.

A refurbished piano, one that had been polished and cared for for many years, is gone. A post-it-note is stuck to the wall that the piano once leant again.

‘ _Never sell that wedding dress – K xx_ ’

That was sign number six.

 

 

You’re 65.

Kihyun sits at a piano – one you bought for his 60th to replace the one he sold - playing the same chords over and over.

“Are you stuck, dear?”

“I’ve got the melody, I just can’t figure out the perfect lyrics, is all.”

“Maybe that’s a sign you should take a break.”

The sun shines through the window. You revel in the silence of an empty house; the children all having returned to their respective colleges and jobs after celebrating their father’s birthday this weekend.

“We should take a break – get away somewhere.”

“I’m not sure we can just pack up our stuff and run away.”

“Why not?” The corners of his mouth upturn in a devilish manner.

You smile back, and dart upstairs to pack your bags.

With the windows rolled down and your sunglasses on, he drives along the coastline for as long as he can. You stop at a cottage on a hill, overlooking the sea.

Sitting on a swing suspended from an oak tree, you turn to smile at him. He grins back at you. Your hair hangs loose, and as he looks at you, his eyes widen.

“I’ve got it!”

He runs inside for a pen and paper, and scribbles down notes furiously. When you ask to see, he refuses. But after a week away, you’re in the kitchen making coffee when you hear it.

The perfect lyrics.

‘ _If I am with you under this sky, just breathing makes me happy.’_

_‘It’s a beautiful life.’_

This was sign number seven.

 

You’re 75.

Sitting in the doctor’s office, Kihyun squeezes your hand tightly. The doctor is looking at you expectantly, as if waiting for an answer. Unfortunately, you don’t remember what he had said.

You don’t remember a lot these days.

“I wouldn’t recommend private care at this current moment in time, but there’s no telling how quickly your symptoms will develop. You need to keep coming in for regular check-ups, so we can effectively monitor the situation.”

You nod, though you’re not sure what it is you’re agreeing to completely.

Walking across the parking lot, Kihyun keeps tight hold of your hand. Inside the car, you stare out the window as you two drive home. Your eyebrows furrow, and walking through the front door, you linger in the doorway. _‘Private care’?_ The thought of leaving your home fills you with dread.

“Don’t worry; this is our home, we aren’t leaving it. I’ve got you, and you’ve got me. That doctor was just trying to scare us.”

Without having to say a word, he knew. He could read you like a book.

This was sign number eight.

 

You’re…5?

Hospital sounds echo around you; machines beeping and whirring and spinning.

“I’m ____. What’s your name?”

“Kihyun.”

An old man with deep brown eyes from the bed opposite has moved his wheelchair closer to you, and his smile turns those eyes into crescents as he shoots a toothy grin your way.

You’re…15?

“I know a Kihyun! We met in hospital a while ago; he dyed his hair pink for me.”

“Did he really? Quite a chap.”

You’re…25?

“I’m waiting for him to hurry up and ask me to marry him, to be honest. Don’t tell him, will you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You’re…35? No, 45?

“He’s going to be the most wonderful father. The sort of man that would do anything for his family, even if it meant he had to put other things at risk.”

The old man just smiles at you and reaches forward to grab your hand. He squeezes it, and the action is all too familiar.

55? 65? 75?

“He’s given me brilliant memories. He’s so talented, and dedicated – he writes the most wonderful songs, and cares for me so well.”

“If I had a girl like you, I’d take care of you too.”

85.

You’re 85.

The room is not your own; sterile sheets and white walls surround you. You look around, and see three people sat on your left – two men, and a woman. She has tears in her eyes, and the boys both wear sorrow in their expressions.

Turning back to your right, you look into the deep brown eyes of the old man beside you, recognition finally washing over you.

“Kihyun, how long have you been here? I was just talking about you.”

“I just got here, my love. I hope you were saying good things.”

He releases your hand to wipe away a single drop rolling down his cheek.

This was sign number nine.


End file.
